The field was drowned in ash and thunder.
Steel clashed with steel in a storm of screams, banners torn and blood-soaked as the tide of war surged across the dying earth.
Smoke coiled like mourning veils, and the distant roar of war drums faded beneath the sharp ring of two blades locked mid-strike—neither yielding, neither retreating.
Hiral's sword quivered inches from Alexis's throat, his arm taut with purpose yet trembling with something unspoken.
Alexis, his own blade poised just beneath Hiral's jaw, met his rival's gaze with the same raw ache.
Their bodies bore the grace of masters, sweat and blood mingling on their armor, but it was their eyes—shadowed and sorrowful—that revealed the truth they could not voice.
The battle around them blurred.
"I…" Hiral's lips barely parted, then sealed again. His breath hitched as if the words might cut deeper than any sword could.
Run away with me.
The thought thundered behind his silence, louder than the chaos around them.
He could see it, that fragile dream—some distant shore, some nameless village untouched by the rot of duty, the weight of thrones.
A place where the only command was their own hearts.
But duty had a blade too, and it was pressed to his spine.
Across from him, Alexis's jaw clenched, his eyes glistening with unshed grief.
The way he looked at Hiral was almost too much to bear—soft, even in war.
Longing.
His mouth twitched, betraying the desire to speak, but no words came.
Just one moment. Let me have this moment with you.
Yet the memories of their fallen, of soldiers who followed them into this abyss, screamed for honor, for vengeance, for the fulfillment of sovereign command.
"Kill the enemy general."
"Kill him, or your men die for nothing."
The order echoed in both their minds, sovereign seals like lead weights on their soul.
Hiral's grip tightened. Alexis's stance grew still.
Time held its breath.
For a heartbeat, the world vanished.
It was only them—brothers-in-arms once, something more when no one watched. Now ghosts of their own making, bound by oaths and war.
Their blades did not waver.
But their hearts cracked open, quietly.
Their eyes—still locked—glimmered not with hatred, but with a sorrow too deep for words.
The sound of war surged behind them, but all they heard was the silence of what might've been.
Then, without a word, they both closed their eyes.
A single breath passed.
When they opened them again, the choice had already been made.